


Behind Closed Doors

by NogitsuneStiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cutting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Self-Harm, Steter - Freeform, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Needs a Hug, Suicidal Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-05 21:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10317773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NogitsuneStiles/pseuds/NogitsuneStiles
Summary: Everyone goes back to normal after Stiles is freed of the possession of the Nogitsune.Everyone except for Stiles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  This work contains topics such as suicidal thoughts, the planning of suicide, and might contain self-harm or thoughts thereof in the future (I will continue to tagg triggers as I go along with the story if needed). I will try my best to approach these topics sensitively; however, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, not a realistic psychological paper. If you feel triggered by any such topics, please do not continue reading for your own well-being. ♥
> 
>  
> 
> I mainly chose to approach this topic because I've seen many TW fans disagree with how Stiles' mental state was portrayed after the third series, and I do agree that he seemed much less affected by the possession and the murders that were committed than he should be. I hope you will enjoy reading despite the rather serious introduction!
> 
> Nogitsune xo

Quiet.

For a moment, even the rhythmic dripping of water from the tip of the tap seemed to cease, the electric whirring of the light was suddenly silent.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment until he saw little sparks fly before him, then he opened them slowly, looking down to his cupped hand.

He smiled at the thought of candy, M&M’s and Skittles, peppermint bonbons, all of them mixing together to produce such a unique little rainbow in the palm of his hand.

He took a deep breath, felt his hand shaking slightly, his throat tightening at the thought of what would follow undoubtedly, the mess it would make, the discomfort he would have to experience.

He pressed his free hand to his mouth, suppressing the gag that worked its way up his throat.

No.

This wasn’t the way.

He would find something else. 

Something that would not require his dad or even a doctor to forcefully make him throw up the contents of his stomach.

He wanted it to be final.

Irrevocable.

He didn’t want to disappoint anyone with the false hope of the possibility of him coming back.

Stiles sighed deeply when he was finally able to breathe again, sorted the different pills back into their little containers, washed his hands, and gulped down a bit of water before he unlocked the bathroom, switched the light off, and quietly made his way back to his bedroom.

Lying down flat on his bed he stared at the ceiling for a while, waiting for sleep to come, lure him deeper into the softness of his pillow, break down the resistance of his restless mind.

Yet, as every night, sleep didn’t come.

Stiles turned back and forth for about an hour, before he finally switched on the light at the end of his bed to find the sleeping pills he had been keeping hidden underneath a few layers of tissues in his tissue box. 

He swallowed a few of them with a bit of water, pulled his blanket around him closer, looked outside at the full moon.

He had read about most people linking their messed up sleeping schedules to the phases of the moon, but of course for him the moon wasn’t the issue. In fact, he found it quite soothing to be able to look at it. Sometimes it even managed to distract him from all the horrible thoughts at the back of his head until he finally fell asleep.

However, not even the full moon was able to distract his mind enough to keep it from falling down the deep dark abyss as soon as Stiles had finally given in to the exhaustion.

Every night was the same, without exceptions; soon it would begin. 

The nightmares.

The anxiety.

The paralysis.

The inexplicable torture, induced by his own heavily-damaged mind and soul. 

The horror that made him wish, want, _yearn_ for him to be able to finally close his eyes forever.

-

Peter took a deep breath, sucking in the cool, fresh night air.

He did still think of himself as a creature of habit, which seemed quite fitting given the fact that he had become quite fond of these daily late-night walks.

All by himself, with the oh-so ordinary residents of Beacon Hills all snuck in at home cosily and fast asleep, there was no one to disturb him. 

No one to annoy him.

No one to pollute the unique scent of the night with their disgusting smell and stupid words.

Although he did quite enjoy the walks through the woods as opposed to the city, tonight he felt a little more curious, making his way down the hills to the edge of the town, his feet taking him past a few houses, many backyards, even a few dogs that rather quickly ceased their attempt at an alarming bark when he flashed his eyes at them or growled quietly.

He had rarely enjoyed himself as much as in these nights, knowing this territory wasn’t entirely his anymore, but still being able to set a few boundaries for the McCall pack.

Just because the colour of his eyes had changed it didn’t make him feel any less of an alpha.

He knew he just had to play his cards right at the given time, and it wouldn’t be much of an issue anymore.

A mere formality.

He had walked for about half an hour when he stopped, sniffed the air more carefully, frowning at the strange scent he caught.

He took a quick look around to make sure he was still alone, before he followed the scent, deeply irritated by its intensity.

His steps quickened until he was half running, now highly alarmed by the familiar smell.

Someone was dying.

Slightly out of breath Peter finally found himself between two houses, yet he was still missing the disturbing undertone of rotting flesh. Maybe he was wrong after all? But if so, where did that scent come from?

He was just about to decide that whatever it was, it wasn’t his business and he certainly would not put himself at risk for some random family if the threat wasn’t imminent to himself, when his gaze fell upon the house across the street.

Stiles.

Focussing his hearing it was now more obvious than before; and even more so that whatever was happening, Stiles’ heart seemed to be under such extreme stress that it was very close to stopping to move altogether.

-

Stiles woke with a start, gasping for air like he had been deep under water for way too long, his heart pounding so heavily he heard its echo in his ears, felt it hammer painfully against his chest.

He was now sitting upright, trembling heavily, sweat running down his forehead and sticking his pyjamas to his skin.

His chest was moving irregularly with the uncontrollable sobbing, he pressed his palms to his eyes, desperately trying to keep back the tears, but it was no use.

It took him quite a while to finally catch his breath again, to stop crying, desperately hoping that he had not been screaming in his sleep again, causing his dad to barge in.

Stiles loved him, he really did. But he didn’t want him to see him like this. He didn’t want him to treat him like the little, helpless boy again that he had been after the death of his mum. Never again.

He roughly wiped away the last tears from his face, his hand feeling for the bottle of water next to his bed in the darkness, even though it didn’t really help much with the dry sensation left in his mouth.

It was only then that he realised that he was not alone in the room.

Opposite him, hidden in the darkness, on the chair at his desk, sat a tall, dark figure.

Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, he hastily crawled back to the very edge of his bed to bring more space between them, his mind already bringing back the eyeless face that could still hold him in place with a piercing gaze, the black, burnt flesh that somehow still resembled a mouth bearing shark, baneful teeth.

He couldn’t do this-

Not again-

He should have taken the pills-

Why had he not just taken the goddamn pills-

-

“Stiles…?”

His voice sounded surprisingly soft, concerned even.

Mostly because he had no idea how to interpret this scenario he had just witnessed, let alone how to deal with it. He had seen quite a lot in his life, overcome twice as many obstacles, but admittedly, sensitive matters were not really his strong suit.

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, trying to decipher the headline of one of the newspaper articles on his corkboard to determine whether he was still asleep. 

Apparently, he wasn’t.

“Peter…?”, he replied hoarsely, slowly moving closer again, before finally being able to make out his features properly when Peter got up and stepped into the pale, faint moonlight that shone into the room.

“What are you doing here…?”, he asked confused, but also upset, looking back and forth between the werewolf in front of him and the now open window.

“I thought you were dying.”, Peter replied calmly, yet in an incredibly serious tone.

Stiles swallowed dryly.

“I just had a nightmare. I’m okay.”

He forced the corners of his mouth to move until he smiled, unfortunately aware that it probably looked as fake as it felt. Lying didn’t exactly come easy to him at this time of night after a dream like that.

“You didn’t seem okay. Not at all.”, Peter countered quietly. “That must have been quite the nightmare to upset you like that-“

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Or how it gave you permission to just come into my room. Don’t you have to be invited for that?”

Peter raised his eyebrows in annoyance. So it seemed Stiles was still well enough to be a sarcastic little shit.

“Last time I checked I was still a werewolf, not a sparkling vampire, thank you very much.”

“I still want you to leave.”

“Do you?”

Stiles just stared at him for a moment, still dizzy and not really prepared for a comeback like that.

Not that he wasn’t nagged enough already with himself as it was, now he also had to try to win an argument with Peter Hale in the middle of the night, who seemed to have no intention of leaving anytime soon.

He stepped closer, until he was standing right in front of Stiles’ bed.

“If you’d rather have it like that, I will hereby very _politely_ ask for permission to sit on your bed.”

Stiles wanted to ask what kind of question that was even supposed to be, maybe make a sarcastic remark about Peter’s age or sexuality as well, but he found himself way to exhausted and tired for this game.

Instead, he just buried himself under the covers again, curling himself up underneath the soft, warm fabric, turning his back towards Peter.

He didn’t even care anymore.

He was too tired to argue. Too weak.

And going by the dream he had already had that night, even Peter wasn’t as much of a threat as usual either. 

“Go back to sleep, Stiles. I’ll wake you up when it gets bad again.”

Peter knew he didn’t want to talk about it, or he couldn’t. So the only thing he could do right now was to stay, and make sure that he would survive the rest of the night as well. 

As much as he had cursed him sometimes, he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of the rest of his pack blaming him for his death.

At least that’s what Peter chose to tell himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick-

Stiles closed his eyes, jumping slightly on his seat when the obnoxiously loud and strident sound of the school bell finally ended the last, never-ending lesson of the day.

He stuffed his pens and papers into his bag and left the room, dropping off the books he wouldn’t need over the weekend at his locker on the way out.

He yawned, blinked a few times as he felt the sun was more blinding than usual today as he left the building, wondering if he was so sensitive due to his lack of sleep or the side effects of the pills he was taking to keep himself awake during the day and asleep at night. If you wanted to call his kind of nightly routine _asleep_ , that was.

With a quick goodbye to Scott and the others he had finally made it to his jeep, took a deep breath and gave his eyes a little rub before he started the engine and got on his way.

While driving, his mind started to wander, his subconscious finally pushing forward the events of last night again, wanting him to actually reflect on what had happened.

Well… what exactly _had_ happened…?

To be fair to Peter, he didn’t remember much, and wasn’t really able to decide how much of the night he had actually experienced while being fully awake, and which parts of his memories had been altered by his mind to fit the story he had tried to tell him the morning after.

Yet if Stiles hadn’t started sleepwalking again, nobody else would have been able to pull out the chair at his desk and turn it to face Stiles’ bed.

So… Peter had actually been there.

He had actually visited him in the middle of the night, without any sort of heads-up, and disappeared in the morning before Stiles had gotten up for school.

He had watched over him.

The mere thought itself was so absurd Stiles couldn’t really believe it, almost didn’t want to accept it as the truth. Of all people, Peter Hale was not exactly well-known for his outstanding selfless behaviour.

So, what was he getting out of this…?

Stiles pulled over and parked the jeep on the street right outside the house, grabbed his backpack from the empty seat next to him and shortly after finally closed the front door of the house behind him.

“I’m home!”, he called out as usual, but didn’t expect an answer.

He never got one these days, anyways.

Often his dad would even show up late for dinner, if he managed to show up at all. 

Stiles sometimes missed the family meals, the jokes, the take-out food enjoyed on the couch in front of the TV, or the proper meals they would spend some quality time together cooking.

Yet ever since Stiles had come back to his senses after the Nogitsune had left his body, since the night terrors and insomnia had started, he was actually glad to be able to avoid his father for most of the time.

_How are you doing at school?_

_How are things going with Malia?_

_What about Lydia, you used to talk about her so much. Is she still in your class?_

_I’ve been missing Scott around here, everything okay between you two?_

_Stiles, you don’t look well. Are you getting enough sleep?_

Stiles just really couldn’t bear these questions anymore.

He rummaged around a few cupboards and the fridge until he had produced something edible, took the plate upstairs with him and sat down at his desk to eat and do some of his homework in the meantime.

After a few minutes the letters and numbers in front of him started dancing over the sheets, changing their positions in the words he was trying to read and write, before everything suddenly just turned dark…

-

“That’s not exactly an appropriate place to sleep, Stiles.”

The young man blinked dizzily, ripped out of his slumber by the slightly mocking voice right next to him, pushed himself off the table to sit up straight.

“I didn’t exactly intend to fall asleep, but thanks for your concern. Much appreciated.”

He turned his chair to look at Peter.

“Can’t you wait outside with that attitude until someone politely asks you in?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Again, Stiles, werewolf, not vampire. And you wouldn’t let me in through the front door even if I asked nicely.”

“Yeah, that was kinda the point, so…”

Peter just crossed his arms but didn’t throw a sarcastic comeback his way, so Stiles took a deep breath and attempted to be reasonable instead.

“Why are you here?”

“For a fair warning. I thought, with your doors not exactly being open and welcoming, you should know that I intend to come back here tonight.”

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle. It just sounded so bizarre. 

“You’re really sure about that whole not-a-vampire-thing…? And besides, don’t you think it’s a little weird for a guy in his mid-thirties-“

Peter gave him a murderous glare.

“Okay, fine, a guy in his _early_ thirties to be in my room in the middle of the night? Without me actually having a say in this?”

“Don’t _you_ think it’s a little _weird_ that you actually slept better with me being there?”

Stiles fell silent. He leaned back in his chair, trying to remember the nightmares he had had after Peter had been there… but there were none.

“What are you, some kind of dreamcatcher…?”, he asked quietly, almost worried if Peter actually _had_ done something weird to him.

Peter sighed in annoyance.

“Not exactly. So… do I have your _permission_ to come back tonight to see if my theory works out or not?”

Stiles still wasn’t too sure about this.

With Peter Hale, there was always a catch.

Always.

“Why are you doing this…?”

“That’s it, I’m leaving…”, Peter growled quietly, making his way to the door instead of the window this time. 

“Wait!”

Stiles jumped of his chair, almost tripped over his own feet with his blood rushing too quickly through his body, getting between Peter and the door just as he was about to open it. 

He took a few deep breaths, looked up to Peter when the room wasn’t spinning anymore.

“It’s… just for one night, right…?”

Peter smirked at him condescendingly, leaning in closer to Stiles as he reached for the door handle again. 

“We will see about that…”

Then he was gone.

Stiles exhaled deeply, sank down on the floor just where he was standing, actually slowly realising what just had happened. 

He couldn’t help the feeling that he had just made a deal with the devil.

A deal where he had not even bothered to read the terms.

What it might cost him…

_What the hell had he just gotten himself into…?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  Please note that this chapter contains self-harm in the form of Stiles cutting himself. If you feel triggered by such behaviour, please skip to the second section of this chapter, or skip it entirely for your own well-being.♥
> 
> Nogitsune xo

_Oh dear God, what have I done…?_

Stiles sobbed quietly, his entire body was shaking violently.

He leaned his head back briefly, forcing himself to stop breathing, to stop crying under the stream of running water of the shower head above, but he quickly had to give up, coughing and spitting out water.

He just felt so helpless…

So _alone_ …

Even if he tried, what exactly was he going to say to the others?

_I thought it was a good idea to let Peter Hale mess with me?_

How could he have possibly been so stupid?

Stiles wiped the water from his face and pushed back his wet hair, his gaze slowly wandering to the razor blade that he had laid on the edge of the bathtub.

On the other hand… was it really that bad?

He carefully picked up the blade, pressed his fingertip against it ever so slightly.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad after all.

Peter would probably have much less scruples than anybody else to kill him.

He could tell him that he wanted the bite, and then just make sure that the wound wouldn’t heal…

He pressed his lips together tightly as he led the blade along the inside of his thigh, cutting himself deeply, but not severely enough to be in need of stitches.

Stiles exhaled deeply, leaned back in his sitting position in the bathtub and just watched the flow of the blood, the way it mixed more and more with the water until it was invisible to the eye.

He smiled.

He would make such a mess if Peter actually bit him… no more neat, clean cuts he had to hide under his shorts in the locker room at school, always afraid someone might see them when he took a shower there.

These moments, these cuts and scars were only for him to see.

He didn’t want attention.

All he really wanted was peace…

A brief moment in time that was only his, that made everything go away until the cut would stop bleeding.

A moment in which he didn’t have to think or feel what he had done with the powers of the Nogitsune.

Stiles put the razor blade aside and slowly got up when the cut had mostly stopped bleeding under the warm water, washed his body and rinsed the tub just to be sure before he turned off the water again.

Sometimes he wondered if he would be able to get his hands on some luminol to see the actual mess he had made in the bathroom over the past time.

Then again it reminded him too much of the crime scenes he had seen… he had _caused_ …

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore how sick he felt just now, and got out of the shower to dry himself off and put on his pyjama pants and t-shirt.

He carefully hid the razor blade again in plain sight with the others on his side of the shelf behind the bathroom mirror, brushed his teeth, and went to his room with a towel loosely draped around his shoulders.

His dad wasn’t there to notice the slight limp in his step.

-

For a moment, he lingered by the locked door, didn’t fully dare to go to bed yet. It felt like it would seal his fate, whatever was going to happen to him besides the usual horror cabinet of dreams.

He turned off the light, breathed shakily as he dried off his hair and put the towel aside, only then seeing the dark figure that had entered through his window.

“What are you still doing up? It’s past midnight…”

Across the room, hidden in the darkness, Peter Hale was smiling at him.

A smile that made Stiles’ mouth go dry and the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

_Dear God, he **was** aiming for that kind of favour…._

Hesitantly, Stiles stepped closer, trying to play for time without knowing what it was it was he was trying to delay, dreading it more and more with every step.

“How, uhm-…”

Stiles cleared his throat, his voice breaking slightly.

“How… do you want to do this…? I mean… should I just-…”

He fumbled at the hem of his shirt before slowly taking it off, then loosened the knotted string that held his pyjama pants in place before the fabric slid down to the floor.

The silence that followed was unbearable, even exceeded by the nervousness and anxiety he felt by the way Peter was looking at him right now.

“Stiles…”, he began slowly, closing the distance between them.

“I appreciate that you seem to prefer to sleep naked, but…”

He handed him back his shirt.

“…I’d prefer we do this being dressed.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped slightly, his eyes now full of confusion.

“But-… I thought-…”

Peter chuckled.

“Yes, I can see that. I am very flattered and insulted alike, but no. I am here to try to help you sleep, not keep you from it. Now, get dressed and go to bed.”

Stiles was glad that Peter wouldn’t see how much he was blushing right now, hastily put his clothes back on and laid down, the covers pulled up all the way to his nose.

He hadn’t thought that it was possible for him to become an even bigger idiot.

“Sorry-…”, he pressed forward quietly, didn’t really dare to look Peter in the eye right now.

“It’s fine. I didn’t look. So, how do you prefer to sleep at night? Like this, on your side?”

“Uhm… I guess, yeah…”

“Good.”

Peter took off his jacket, sat next to Stiles at the edge of the bed.

“Are you comfortable? Can you fall asleep like that?”

“Yeah… I mean, that’s usually how I try to-“

“Give me your hand.”

Stiles looked at him questioningly for a moment, slowly extended his hand from underneath the covers.

Peter looked at him, smiling gently.

“Close your eyes…”

Stiles followed his request, then suddenly exhaled deeply, pressed his head a little more into the pillow when he felt Peter’s hand close around his.

It wasn’t just the warmth of his skin that made him shiver, but the deep, satisfying relief he suddenly felt as all the pain, the anxiety and fear left his body.

“Good?”, Peter asked softly, watching him closely.

“Yes…”, Stiles moaned softly, quietly, already drifting off to sleep.

-

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Mh…”

Stiles groaned unhappily, his hand reaching for his mobile phone on the bedside table to set his alarm clock on slumber.

“Jus’ five more minutes…”, he murmured, burying his face in his pillow again.

Then he suddenly sat up straight, looked around hastily in confusion.

How was it already morning? 

How had the night passed so quickly?

“Good morning, Stiles.”

“Oh, God-!”

Stiles almost fell out of the bed, jumping with surprise when he saw Peter next to him.

The werewolf chuckled in amusement.

“I’m glad to see you slept so tightly…”, he said with a grin, stood up and stretched his limbs before he took his jacket, walking over to the window.

“You should get ready for school. And don’t fall asleep again.”

“Wait-!”

He was gone before Stiles had even managed to get out of the covers he had so tightly wrapped around himself, so instead he quickly grabbed his phone, almost dropping it while doing so.

_’Come back tonight? Please. – Stiles’_

He breathed slowly, hitting ‘send’.

Peter yawned, checked his phone while walking towards the forest, getting on his way home.

He smiled.

_’Midnight. Don’t lock your window. – PH’_

Stiles couldn’t believe how relieved he was as he got his reply, sank back onto his bed.

Then he suddenly realised that he had forgotten something incredibly important, started typing again.

_’I haven’t slept that well in weeks.'_

He smiled.

_'Thank you.’_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  Please note that this chapter is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for Stiles. He is experiencing an overall better day, but there are still some flashbacks and implied thoughts of suicide as a result thereof.  
> The first two and last two sections of this chapter contain no such triggers. The third and fourth section, however, contain implied thoughts of suicide and Stiles denying professional help, thinking he doesn't deserve it. 
> 
> Please keep this in mind when reading and be safe ♥
> 
> Nogitsune xo

Everything felt so much brighter.

So much lighter.

So much _easier_.

Stiles couldn’t quite put into words what it was like to finally be able to think more clearly, to be actually well-rested for the first time in weeks.

He didn’t flinch at the usually painfully bright sunlight on the way to school.

He didn’t feel overwhelmed by his friends and their much more eager takes on the day.

He didn’t have to keep himself from falling asleep during the last period.

No moving letters in front of him.

No more brief images of extra fingers before him.

He dared to believe, to hope, to think – to convince himself that once, just this once, life was good again.

-

Stiles closed the door of his room behind himself after he got home in the afternoon, sighed deeply as he looked at the corkboard and walls that were covered in old and new articles, pictures, and notes.

He hadn’t dared to look at these for quite a while, hadn’t felt well enough to confront himself with these pages.

Today, he thought, would finally be the day he would conquer whatever trace was left of the Nogitsune.

He pulled his bin out from under his desk, began to loosen the pins from the walls, threw article after article into the bin, still didn’t really dare to look too closely as he did so. 

For a few minutes all was going well, without any problems or flashbacks, the colour of his walls slowly becoming visible again.

Then he bent down to pick up one of the pictures that had fallen to the floor after Stiles had taken off the cut-out newspaper that had been pinned down on top of it, hiding it.

Stiles turned the picture around to see what it was, and instantly felt his hands turn cold, his insides twisted painfully, he felt like a huge weight was pressing down on his chest.

 _Allison_.

He remembered Scott having given him the photograph about half a year ago, wanting to get rid of it after a really tough night of being lovesick, thinking about her too much, not having fully accustomed to Isaac being there yet.

Stiles had always liked Scott and Allison together. He really would have wanted these two to have another chance at being happy together – something that would never happen now.

Allison was dead.

And she was dead because of _him_.

Stiles took a deep breath, leaned against the wall, tried to calm down again.

But the more he tried to relax, the more the darkness crept under his skin again; he could still remember every horrible detail even though he had barely been able to stand at the time.

_The blood…_

_Scott’s tears as he held her dead body in his arms…_

_Lydia’s scream…_

Stiles put the picture down, cowering by the corner next to his desk as his legs gave in, trembling heavily.

Allison…

Aiden…

Police officers he had known since he was a kid…

So many doctors and nurses at the hospital…

All of these people were dead because of _him_ …

_Why couldn’t he have been stronger? Why had he just **stood by** …?!_

“Stiles…?”

Noah opened the door, approached his son carefully, kneeled down next to him.

“Hey… Stiles… What’s wrong…?”

He gently ran his hand through his messy hair, trying to get his son to look at him.

Stiles just shook his head, sobbing quietly, holding onto him tightly.

Noah pulled him closer, rubbed his back, closed his eyes briefly after his gaze had wandered across the short column in the newspaper in the bin, the time and date for the funeral and memorial service for Allison Argent, her picture that had fallen down next to it on the floor.

“It’s going to be okay, kid… It’s gonna be okay…”

-

Stiles quietly handed his dad the chopped bell peppers, cleaned up the knife.

“Thank you… for coming home early… But you know, you really didn’t have to…”

“Well, apparently, I did.”, Noah replied softly, smiled gently at his son. “I wanted to spend more time with you. I haven’t been around too much lately, and I’m sorry about that. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to leave you alone with everything that was going on, you know…”

“It’s okay.”, Stiles smiled. “I understand. After that… bomb… I get it. You need to work for at least three more people, and you need every officer available. It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not…”, Noah replied softly, but seriously, turning over the rice and vegetables in the pan. “Not when that means that you’re feeling like you need to cope with everything by yourself.”

Stiles fell silent for a minute, not knowing how to react.

Part of him wanted to just finally tell him, tell him about all that was going on, that was _wrong_ , the anxiety, the night terrors, the fears, the cutting… how _miserable_ he really was.

And another part of him…

“I’m fine, dad. Really. I can manage. Please don’t worry about me, okay?”

He smiled at him, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince more – his father or himself.

“Stiles, it’s… it’s not fine. And you’re not okay… And I really blame myself for not having seen that sooner…”

Stiles swallowed dryly, actually had to fight the tears, the urge to just give in, to submit to the breakdown that was long, long overdue.

“It’s okay, dad… Really…”

He tried to focus on laying the table now, using the brief moment of not having to look straight at his dad, bracing himself for the kind of conversation with him that he was dreading so much.

Noah finished cooking, prepared their plates, sat down with him.

“Stiles… I know it has all been… a lot to deal with lately… And losing your friends in such a dreadful way… it’s just terrible…”

His son didn’t reply, just stuffed some rice into his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking… and maybe it would be best for you to talk to someone… someone who can help you more with this than me…”

Stiles furrowed his brows.

“You mean a shrink?”

“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah, well, Eichen House didn’t leave a very positive impression, so…”

Noah sighed, looked down to his meal.

“It would still be in your best interest, Stiles.”

“I’m fine, dad. I can manage.”

He didn’t need someone else to tell him how broken he was.

With Peter being there at night, he would probably also be able to get much better on his own.

All he really needed was peace and time.

Besides… no matter how many hours he would spend on one of these couches, it wouldn’t undo what he had done.

It wouldn’t bring back the people he had killed.

It wouldn’t fix the families he had torn apart.

It was no use, really…

“I don’t know, Stiles…”

“Dad…”

Stiles smiled at him reassuringly.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

-

For a while Stiles just laid there on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the sun was setting outside.

It had been a relatively good day today.

So good, in fact, that he wished he could be at ease like this more often.

_Allison…_

_Aiden…_

Stiles took a deep breath, tried not to drown in his own memories again.

Today was the first day ever since the Nogitsune that he had almost gotten a glimpse at another way out.

A different path to go down.

A path that led into an unknown future instead of a blood-filled bathtub…

Stiles sighed, rolled onto his side, curling up in the sheets.

He was such a weak, useless, and terrible excuse of a human being…

Surely everyone would be better off without him.

After all, he was sure that they were blaming him…

And without the pack, who was he, really?

Always relying on others, always being the weakest link.

A human among supernatural creatures.

It was pathetic.

So pathetic to believe that he would ever truly be equal to them…

-

Stiles had stayed up until Peter finally came over, yet still slightly flinched when he heard the noise outside, the sound of the window being pushed open far enough for Peter to fit through.

He got up quietly, smiling weakly.

"Hey..."

"You're still up? Are you feeling worse again?", Peter asked calmly, stepping closer.

"No, it's not that... I... I just..."

Stiles took a deep breath.

"I wanted to say sorry again... for last night. I really didn't mean to insult you, and I'm sorry that I so obviously misunderstood your intentions..."

He stayed quiet for a moment, thinking how to phrase what he was trying to say.

"Peter, I... I don't want to know why you decided to help me with this... I don't need to... For now, I'm just... really grateful that you're doing this for me. I really am... I just wanted to say that..."

Peter listened calmly, attentively, even if a little distracted by the racing heartbeat of the young adult in front of him.

He just smiled at him, completely ignoring everything Stiles had said about his true intentions.

"Go to bed, Stiles... You need to be well-rested for school..."

Stiles was a bit surprised that Peter didn't seem to want to correct him in any way, clarify what was going on here on his own, but decided that for the time being it was just as fine. 

He crawled under the covers, letting Peter sit next to him, holding his hand.

"I'm really sorry..."

"Stiles... it's fine... go to sleep..."

And just as the veins in Peter's arms slowly turned black, the thoughts about death and chaos were finally leaving Stiles's head, allowing him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Stiles sighed, turned off his alarm.

Peter laughed softly.

“I never thought I’d come across someone even more grumpy in the mornings than Derek…”

Stiles smiled, a bit embarrassed.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. How did you sleep?”

“Well…”, Stiles answered truthfully, stretching his limbs a little as he sat up.

“Thank you…”

Peter nodded, put on his jacket, yawning.

Stiles chuckled.

“I guess it’s appropriate for me to wish you a good night…”

“Thank you.”, Peter replied softly, running his hand over his cheeks and jaw. “I’ll probably go get some breakfast first… take a shower, shave…”

“Don’t…”, Stiles heard himself say before his brain had even had a chance to intervene. “I mean, I like the stubbles… they suit you…”

Peter grinned at him.

“Did you just make me a compliment?”

“Yeah, I think being nice once in a while is a good contrast to being such a sarcastic idiot most of the time…”

“You’re not an idiot.”, Peter replied seriously, yet still smiling at Stiles before he left.

“I’ll see you tonight.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Peter… Peter, get up!”

Peter groaned angrily, baring his teeth at his nephew, who pulled open the curtains on the windows in his bedroom, flooding it with bright sunlight.

“ _What?!_ ”, Peter hissed, still a bit hoarse from sleeping.

“It’s almost 4. Don’t you think you should do something more productive with your day than just sleeping?”

“Since when is that any of your business?”

“Since we have more imminent problems to deal with than your beauty sleep. Which still doesn’t seem to help with shaving, as far as I can see.”

“Goddamnit, Derek, you’re worse than my mother! Just get the hell out, would you?”

Derek raised his eyebrows briefly at his brisk tone, then decided that it was no use trying to argue with his uncle who was just about the morning person as an actual wolf.

Well, afternoon person.

Peter breathed deeply as his nephew had finally left, rubbed his face.

It wasn’t the amount of sleep that was troubling him – it was what he did when he wasn’t sleeping.

_All that pain…_

_All that rage…_

_All that guilt…_

After the first night Peter had seriously wondered how Stiles was even able to bare all these feelings inside of him and still go about his day like a normal human being.

Every single night was at least as overwhelming as the first, if not worse.

He would have thought that it would be getting easier with time, yet nothing about it seemed to change.

It was overpowering, and sad, and horrific.

And it was _exhausting_.

He didn’t really like to admit it to himself, let alone someone else, but taking away so much pain and trouble over so many hours at a time was draining his energy.

Peter touched his stubbles with the back of his hand, considered shaving once again, but kind of found Stiles to be right. He did like himself much better like this, too.

He finally got up and stretched his limbs, thankful that he wasn’t really able to experience sore muscles after barely moving for the entire night, afraid that he might wake Stiles or break the connection.

Once again he strode over into the bathroom, got under the steaming hot stream of water in the shower, relaxing his tense muscles.

Now, with everything else blocked out, it became even clearer to him that he was, despite the pain, feeling kind of on the edge to get back to Stiles at night.

There was something about him, something about the way he acted and spoke, how he treated himself and Peter, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet, but that deeply concerned him about the boy.

Something had to be wrong with him.

It _had to be_ … didn’t it?

Peter breathed deeply, for the first time in a long time allowing himself to think back to what _he_ had been like roughly two years ago. He had been so consumed by fury and rage, drunk with power, blinded by hatred, that he had entirely lost himself.

He had not just been an Alpha.

He had become a monster.

He sighed, turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

If so much power and chaos brought out a homicidal monster in a wolf like him, what would it bring out in a human like Stiles…?

For a moment Peter just stood there, staring at his blurry reflection in the steamed over mirror, thinking.

Then he grabbed all his belongings from the bathroom, threw them on his bed, and searched for his duffle bag at the bottom of his closet, got dressed, and started packing.

It didn’t take long until he put on his jacket and shouldered the bag, making his way downstairs to the loft.

“Where are you going?”, Derek asked, looking at him half concerned, half confused.

“I’m going back to my apartment downtown. Too much _noise_ around here.”

“Just because I woke you up? That’s not childish at all.”

“I need some time to myself, but I deeply appreciate your concern.”, he murmured between gritted teeth, pulled open the door.

Derek caught up with him, leaning against the wall right next to the door now.

“I’m serious. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”, Peter replied a little more calmly, but no less serious. “I just need more space. And for once, it’s nothing personal.”

Derek thought about it for a moment, then just nodded quietly and got back to his desk as Peter closed the door behind himself.

-

“Home, sweet home…”

Peter threw his keys into a small bowl by the door, went straight into his bedroom and started unpacking again.

He had missed this apartment.

The quiet.

The homely feeling.

The fact that it was not in any way like the house his family had lived in.

When he was done, he made himself some coffee that was way overdue at this point, stood by the window and let his gaze wander over the view of his home town before him.

And just there, almost entirely hidden behind all the other houses, he could see the Stilinski household.

This would make things a lot easier for him. The distance wasn’t as big, and at night he would be able to see when the lights at the Sheriff’s bedroom went out. Also, he wouldn’t need to listen to Derek taking about Stiles.

Not that he had bothered. Not that _he_ didn’t think about Stiles himself.

Yet there was this anger just beneath his skin that scratched at the surface, wanting to be let out whenever the topic came up. Derek had no idea what was going on. It was not for him to talk about Stiles, let alone make assumptions about his well-being.

It was not his part to care.

-

When Peter finally set foot through Stiles’ window, he found the boy wide awake and waiting for him.

Stiles smiled at him.

“Hi…”

Peter chuckled at the thought of Stiles actually looking forward to his visit, took off his jacket, tried not to let his smile get to him.

There was no reason to be flattered by it; after all, it was really just his abilities that were welcome, not Peter himself.

“You’re not supposed to stay awake until I get here, Stiles…”

“I wouldn’t sleep well without you anyways, so…”, Stiles replied hesitantly, smiling apologetically.

“I guess then I should get here sooner, but I can’t, since your father always goes to bed so very late…”

Stiles almost seemed disappointed.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to go to bed that early, anyways…”

Peter waited until Stiles got comfortable, swallowing the sour taste of his anger, tried not to allow himself to think about his mere means for the boy in this situation. He was always egoistic when it came to his own goals, but felt kind of salty about the thought of being used and taken advantage of himself.

He quietly sat down at the edge of Stiles’ bed, reaching for his hand, like he had every other night before.

“Peter…?”, Stiles asked quietly, sounding unsure of what he was going to say.

“You can lie down next to me if you want to… I mean, it must be exhausting for you to just six there next to me all night long…”

Peter was taken by surprise by that offer, blinking confusedly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. Just lie down, would you…?”, he smiled shyly.

Peter let go of his hand, laid down next to Stiles, who was now incredibly thankful that in the darkness the werewolf wouldn’t be able to see how hot his cheeks had just gotten.

“Do you, uhm…”, he stuttered quietly, now unexpectedly found it incredibly hard to talk with Peter’s face so close to his. “Do you mind if I turn around?”

“Not at all. Whatever works best for you.”, Peter replied calmly.

Stiles rolled over to his other side, not understanding why he was so nervous all of a sudden.

It was just Peter. 

It was nothing to worry about…

“How do you-… oh, okay…”, Stiles mumbled quietly, felt himself blush even more when Peter put his arm around him, pulling him slightly closer so he could take Stiles’ hand, gently interlacing their fingers.

“Good night, Stiles…”, he whispered softly, smiling a bit when he felt the boy relax eventually, started taking more of his pain so the nightmares wouldn’t get to him.

Peter’s smile faded soon, disappearing as he lost himself in his own thoughts; there were no obligations between them, no contract, no favours owed, and yet there was something about Stiles that made him come back over and over again…

There was something about these nights, something about Stiles; some sides to him that Peter had never seen before, that slowly painted a completely different picture of the boy than what he was used to.

Peter had no idea what was going on between Scott and Stiles, but he was almost certain that Scott didn’t know what was going on with his best friend. Otherwise, why would Stiles rely on Peter instead of his friend?

There was nothing that kept Peter here, and yet there was still a part of him that hated it, despised being used, hated investing so much time and effort into something he wasn’t getting anything out of.

He closed his eyes, listened to Stiles’ heartbeat, felt how tightly he held onto him even though he was calmly sleeping. 

Maybe Peter had been wrong about him all along, just as he had been wrong about himself.

Maybe there was more to Stiles than he had known.

And maybe, just maybe, not all of Peter’s ends were entirely selfish after all…


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  Please note that this chapter contains mentions of self-harm. If you feel triggered by this in any way, please skip the first section of this chapter, or skip it entirely for your own well-being.♥
> 
>    
> Also, on a lighter note, I wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you who keep leaving such lovely comments and so many kudos! I am so overwhelmed by all of your positive feedback and I appreciate it more than you know - you really make my day, and I will continue to try my best with this story.♥
> 
> Nogitsune xo

Two weeks was all it took.

Fourteen days after that night, and Peter coming over every night felt so normal it was almost one of these domestic little habits, just like preparing your favourite kind of coffee in the morning, or knowing exactly when your favourite TV show came on.

It was something familiar now, not something strange.

It was something Stiles looked forward to, passed the stages of insecurity and awkwardness.

Some nights Peter came over a little earlier, reading quietly while Stiles finished studying, other nights he came over later, lying down next to him when he was almost asleep, but never so late that Stiles started having bad dreams again.

Stiles was still keeping the nights they spent together to himself, and as worried as he had been about facing the werewolf all by himself in the beginning, now he felt so safe and comfortable around him, it didn’t feel like a dirty, dangerous secret that he was afraid could get exposed anymore. It was almost like they had become something like friends.

Almost.

Stiles was looking forward to Peter coming over; not just because it made sleeping and his life in general so much easier, but because he really enjoyed his company.

Once they had gotten through the ice-thick layers of sarcasm and defensive behaviour, talking to Peter had become a quite pleasant experience, since they seemed to have much more in common than both of them had initially thought.

Stiles took a deep breath, reaching for his tooth brush.

He smiled faintly as he saw the little package of razor blades next to it on the shelf.

He was hurting himself much less frequently these days.

The last time was already two days ago now, the cut still being fresh, but not as irritated and stinging anymore.

The longest time he had passed before that was only one and a half days.

He smiled a little more at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It was really working.

He was _really_ getting better.

-

Shortly after Stiles pushed his window open, briefly enjoying the cool, fresh breeze on his skin before he got to bed, waiting for Peter.

He tried so hard to stay awake, but after such an exhausting day he was already falling asleep now and then, trying to keep an eye on the alarm clock at his bedside table as the minutes went by.

“Mh…?”

Stiles turned around sleepily when he felt the weight of the werewolf on the bed next to him.

“It’s okay, I’m here… keep sleeping, Stiles…”

The young man smiled, not even thinking about it anymore as he interlaced his fingers with Peter’s.

“Peter…?”

His voice sounded hoarse, heavy, his heart started beating faster, his smile became nervous, anxious, his palm felt cold and sweaty now.

No matter how tired he was, he finally had to get this question off his chest.

He _had_ to.

“Why are you helping me…? I mean… you, coming to my room every single night… staying awake, holding my hand… taking my pain-…”

Much to his surprise, Peter suddenly let go of his hand, even in the faint light Stiles could see that his features turned cold and distant now.

With a growl he got up, sat at the edge of the bed.

“Well, I am not some old, perverted man who immensely gets off on this, Stiles, but thank you so much for your kind thoughts on this.”

Now wide-awake Stiles sat up as well, staring at him completely baffled, speechless, not understanding where this was coming from all of a sudden.

“Peter, I never said, that-“

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I-… I was simply asking you why you started helping me in the first place-…!”

“Because it is so _odd_ for me to do something nice?”, Peter replied sharply, provokingly.

“Yes-… I mean, no-…! I-“

“I am doing you a great favour, so I _have_ to have an ulterior motive, right?”

Peter smiled at him maliciously.

“Someone like me wouldn’t do such a thing just out of the goodness of their heart, now, would they?”

His voice was low, quiet.

_Threatening_.

The wolf slowly leaned in, looking right into Stiles’ eyes, paying attention to every single reaction of his.

The way his pupils reacted even in the darkness, the change in his scent, the quickening in his breathing, how he backed away against the headboard at his bed.

Stiles was _afraid_.

Peter snarled, turning away from him, slipping into his shoes and throwing on his jacket. 

He should have known.

He should have goddamn _known!_

Without a last look in Stiles’ direction Peter jumped out the window, disappearing into the night.

-

Peter exhaled deeply through gritted teeth, trying to calm the beast inside of him that was now more than ever desiring to break free, lusting for chaos, blood, pain in every way it could inflict.

He should have known better.

Better than to put his faith and trust into a naïve _boy_.

_How could he have possibly been so stupid?!_

_How could he have actually believed that Stiles Stilinski would be the one to see past everything that once had been…?!_

_That he would be the one to see that Peter had changed…?_

As he reached the edge of the forest Peter leaned against one of the trees, still not much calmer than when he had left.

He knew he had done Stiles wrong.

His problem wasn’t with him – it was with everything that Peter’s life had turned out to be ever since Kate Argent struck the match.

He was not and would never be an _entirely_ good person.

He would never be the popular choice for a friend or pack mate, and he was perfectly fine with that.

However, after all these days that they had spent together, was it really too much to ask for the benefit of the doubt?

Had it been too much for him to ask to be seen for the good he would attempt to do? Even if it was only for Stiles to see, not to prove the entire world that he had changed…?

Peter looked up to the dark, cloudy sky, the blurry, bright spot that hid the moon above.

It took him quite a while, standing still like this, to finally find his inner peace again, calm the wolf and allow the human reason to rule his thoughts again.

Stiles had been right not to trust him.

Only an idiot would trust Peter Hale blindly.

Peter had done him wrong. 

Ever since he had first heard of him, he had thought that Stiles was special.

When the boy refused the bite he offered him, he had known.

Stiles was no ordinary kid.

Peter had, despite all the arguments, disagreements and sarcasm, come to respect him as much as he would his beta.

He had been different; a weak, easily broken human that had never been afraid to stand up to him, not even when Peter had been most powerful and dangerous.

And, as he came to think of it now, that had been the reason why Peter had started to visit him.

He didn’t really like to admit it to himself, found it incredibly odd and almost cheesy.

He _cared_ about the boy.

Peter Hale actually, truly, and honestly cared about him.

Maybe he didn’t want to see him suffer because he still saw him for the lesser, weak human being that he was.

Maybe he didn’t want to see Stiles lose himself as much as Peter had lost himself after all these waves of power, vengeance, and pain had crashed above them…

Suddenly overcome by an entirely different thought, Peter grabbed his phone, quickly checking the time.

He had been gone for almost an hour.

He had been gone for an _hour_ after nearly three weeks of being the only thing that kept Stiles safe and sane at night...

-

_You’ve ruined everything…!_

Stiles buried his hands in his hair, pulling at the short, brown strands, frantically rocking back and forth in the corner on his bed. 

He tried to cover his ears, blocking out the voice of the Nogitsune that became louder and louder, felt like it was piercing through his ears, twisting its way into his brain.

_You’re alone._

_You’ve always been alone._

_You don’t deserve to feel good after everything that you’ve done._

_Do you really think someone would actually care about you?_

_You are disgusting._

_Worthless._

_Pathetic._

Stiles sobbed quietly, digging his nails into his scalp.

“Sh-shut up…! Leave me alone…! Leave me alone-!!”

All these images flashing before his eyes, the smell of blood and rotten bodies flooding his senses, the sounds of cracking bones and the screams of his victims-

Swaying heavily, trembling, he hurried off the bed, pulled the bin out from under his desk just as he was about to vomit, feeling like the life was being squeezed out of him, slowly burning from inside out.

“Stiles…”

Blinking through the tears he tried to see, see what was coming, _who_ was coming, started screaming as he saw the heavy chains dangle from the bandaged pair of hands, smelled the burnt skin, saw the foul, rotten, sharp teeth behind the lipless smile.

“You’re coming with me, Stiles…”

“No-..! No, no, NOO-!!”

Clawing, kicking, screaming at the creature he tried to escape from its grip, the chains that were tightening around his ankles and wrists, his neck, threatening to take away the last bit of air he was still able to get-

-

“ _Stiles_ …!”

Peter finally got a tighter grip on him, taking his face into his hands, looking into his eyes.

“Stiles, it’s me…! You’re okay! You’re safe…!”

Slowly, finally, Stiles stopped moving, his eyes seemed more focussed now, actually looking at Peter instead of just blankly staring into an abyss only he could see.

“Peter-…?”

“Yes… It’s okay, Stiles… I’m here now… Don’t be afraid…”

Stiles started sobbing again, hurt, frustrated, hitting Peter’s chest with his fists, trying to push him away, wanting to scream at him for leaving him alone, but then just collapsed into his arms, too weak and exhausted to even attempt to argue, clinging onto him tightly.

Peter swallowed dryly, the words felt heavy on his tongue, only dared to come over his lips quietly.

“I’m sorry, Stiles… I shouldn’t have left you alone… I shouldn’t have said those things to you…”

He had never wanted for himself to get so involved, but now there was no way of undoing it.

He couldn’t just turn his back on this.

Yet, for the first time in a long time, Peter didn’t want to.

“You can’t-…! You can’t leave me again-…! You can’t leave me alone-…!”, Stiles pressed forward quietly, hoarsely, still shaking from head to toe. “Please-… promise-… Promise me that you won’t leave me alone again-…!”

Peter closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

He had pushed Stiles way too far with his stupid narcissism…

He pulled him closer, gently taking the pain from him, staying with him like this until Stiles would eventually stop crying and shivering.

“I promise…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  Please note that this chapter contains mention of self-harm and thoughts of suicide. Please precede with caution if you feel triggered by any such topics, and always be safe. ♥
> 
> Thank you all so very much for your continuous support! It truly means the world to me. I hope that I will have more time to write and update more regularly in the future!
> 
> Nogitsune xo

A school staff meeting had never been more convenient for Stiles than it was this morning.

At least halfway recovered from last night he found himself waking up in Peter’s arms without the annoying sound of an alarm clock, and, even more unusual at this time, without finding the bed next to him to be empty.

“Good morning…”

He attempted a smile, felt Peter’s arms still holding him close to his body.

“Are you feeling better?”, the werewolf replied calmly, studying his features.

“Yes… thank you…” Stiles managed a crooked smile, trying to somehow show him that he wanted things to be okay again. “You’re still an asshole for leaving like that, though…!”

Peter chuckled.

“Absolutely…”

Stiles smiled a little more, wanted to reply something witty, but suddenly found himself lying on his back, the werewolf hovering above him only inches away.

“I thought you said that you weren’t an old, perverted man…”, Stiles tried to smile, slightly uncomfortable with the way Peter was looking at him now.

“I’m not…”, Peter replied calmly, quietly, whispering in his ear as Stiles felt his fingers pull at the strings that held his pyjama pants in place, pushing down the fabric, away from his hips.

“Peter-…?!”

Stiles gasped in surprise, blushing with anger and embarrassment as he exposed him like that, for a moment thinking about how it was, after all, a mistake to trust him.

He was about to push him away, cover himself again, but froze as he felt Peter’s fingers ever so slightly, gently run over the old and new scars at the insides of his thighs, his voice now much softer.

“Don’t you think we should finally talk about this, Stiles…?”

The young man opened his mouth to reply something, defend himself, tell Peter how none of this was his business, but none of the words would dare to leave his lips.

Instead, his eyes started burning, his chest felt tight, like an invisible fist clenching his heart, restricting his breath, as he thought back to all the times the sharp blades had cut through the layers of his skin.

_Shame_.

He felt it so clearly, so overpoweringly, that he couldn’t bear to look up into these soft, but demanding light blue eyes.

Stiles pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to stop the sobbing that was working its way up his throat, squeezed his eyes shut and rolled to his side, curling up defensively as far as he could as he felt Peter get up from between his legs to sit beside him again.

_Nobody should have ever found out._

_Nobody should have seen._

_Nobody should have noticed._

_What would he possibly think about him now…?!_

Stiles slowly turned his head as he felt Peter’s hand on his back, running up and down along his spine soothingly.

_What would he think, indeed…?_

“I-… I can’t help it-…”

“It’s okay, Stiles… Take your time…”

Wondering whether he had actually pushed him too far this time, Peter leaned against the headboard, watching the small, broken human being next to him as he finally found his voice again.

“I just-… I can’t take this anymore-… The noises, the images in my head… the memories… So-…”

Peter nodded slowly, caressing the back of his head as Stiles finally turned to face him again, moving in so close his face was almost touching Peter’s thigh.

“It helps… It makes it go away… At least for a few minutes…”

Stiles laughed faintly.

“I just wish it’d all just go away forever…”

Peter stopped moving his hand, wondering if he had just understood him correctly.

“What do you mean, Stiles…?”

Stiles fell quiet now.

“It’s nothing. Nothing-… Forget what I said-…”

Peter’s fingers gently ran through his hair again.

“Stiles… I need you to know that there is nothing that you can’t talk to me about. And believe it or not, I happen to know what you’re thinking, even if you’re not telling me…”

“I didn’t know werewolves could read minds…”

“We can’t. But you’d be surprised what I’d look like if all of my own scars had never healed.”

Stiles pushed himself up a bit, finally looking at Peter again, yet he seemed speechless as he opened his mouth.

Peter smiled gently at the baffled expression on his face, moved a little on the bed until he was eye to eye with Stiles again, his arms gently holding him close. 

“Listen to me, okay?”

He leaned his forehead against the young man’s, closed his eyes, allowing himself for a brief moment to be carried away by the unique scent of the boy that thought of himself to be nothing but ordinary.

“Whenever it all gets too much… whenever you feel like you can’t be strong anymore, or want to hurt yourself… If you ever want those scars to go away like mine… You call me, okay? Or text me, come over, whatever helps you at that moment the fastest…”

Peter pulled Stiles even closer, letting him feel the warmth of his body, shielding him as if he could protect him from all the bad in the world.

“Promise me… promise me, you will try and reach out to me…”

Stiles pressed his lips together, actually feeling deeply moved by his words, and even more so wondering about his remark about the fading scars-

_And yet, what was he to Peter?_

_Why should Peter Hale care about him?_

_Or anyone, for that matter…?_

“I still don’t really see why you feel so deeply obligated to help me. You don’t know me. You don’t need to care.”

Peter looked at him with a severe expression on his face, yet the softness was not entirely gone from his eyes.

“I may not know every single little detail of your life, Stiles, but I _do_ know you. Because I know that what happened to you is not all that far from what happened to me. I _know_ what it’s like to be lost. What it’s like not to be entirely in control of your body and soul. What it’s like to be… so… _consumed_ by your emotions that you completely lose yourself… your mind…”

Stiles nodded slightly, closed his eyes as he felt Peter’s fingers interlace with his own, the dark veil of pain and sorrows lifting from his thoughts until he felt more relaxed, much more like himself again.

“Okay…”, he finally replied quietly, still so unsure of himself he wondered if Peter had even heard him.

“I will try… I promise…”

-

The better the day had eventually become for Stiles, the worse it was now for Peter as he closed the door of his apartment behind himself.

Instead of going straight to bed and catching up on the few hours of sleep that he so desperately needed right now his legs refused to carry him much further, suddenly feeling so weak and numb that they wouldn’t support him anymore, his entire body feeling like gravity pulled at every fibre with its fullest force, leaving him to just collapse then and there, his hands grabbing at the door frame to try to catch his fall.

Everything suddenly felt so hot, burning, eating him alive, black smoke seemed to fill his lungs, sting in his eyes until he just couldn’t hold back anymore.

He cried.

Cried like he had never again since the fire, since he had lost his family, since he had learned to bundle his emotions and turn them into anger, hatred, and ultimately fury and power.

Peter dug his claws into the skin of his palms, trying to make it stop, trying to bring himself back, but it was no use; everything was just so much worse, so much more serious and dangerous than he had dared to think. So much more terrifying-

Stiles was not just having nightmares.

He was not just hurting himself.

_He was thinking about killing himself._

The glimpses Peter had been given into his mind were not just the tricks of an exhausted brain anymore, that was just trying to cope with what had happened. These feelings, these thoughts, remained real for Stiles, even after the destructive force of the ancient spirit had left him. 

And they were damn near _killing_ him in every way they could.

Peter took a few deep, shaky breaths, hoarsely whispering the mantra of his ancestors, trying to bring himself away from the basement filled with fire and smoke and screams and the smell of burnt flesh, away from the sharp teeth, the faceless smile, the baneful voice of the Nogitsune, back to the light, back to something, anything positive.

Back to the soft, brown eyes, that shimmered slightly more golden in the sunlight.

Back to the moles that seemed to be almost too many to count, and that formed a delicate contrast to the pale skin underneath.

Back to the joyful, heartfelt laugh that he was now afraid he might never truly hear again.

Peter couldn’t just stand by again; he couldn’t just be the survivor to a catastrophe again, without even trying to prevent it in the first place.

Slowly, dizzily, he opened his eyes, looking down to his bloody hands, sighing deeply as the realisation slowly formed in his mind.

_Oh, dear God…_

He just couldn’t lose somebody he _loved_ again...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  Please note that this chapter includes self harm/cutting. If you are sensitive to this topic, please skip the first section of this chapter.♡
> 
>  
> 
> And I know I am repeating myself, but to get so many wonderful comments from all of you is truly amazing, and I read and appreciate each and every single one of them! Thank you so much for being a part of this little journey!
> 
> Nogitsune xo

When Stiles came home the door fell shut behind him loudly, swaying dangerously, almost as much as the occupant that had just entered the house.

Stiles leaned against the wall next to it for a moment, trying to take control of the dizziness, the sickness, yet the voices in his head were too loud, to overwhelming to ignore.

He let his backpack fall to the floor without really noticing where, stumbled into the bathroom as quickly as he could, only to then collapse in front of the toilet, making it just in time before the bitter taste of bile forced its way up his throat. 

He spit out most of the revolting taste afterwards, his hand shakily reaching out to flush the aftermath of the stench of the burnt hair and flesh, the fresh and rotten blood that filled his nose, down the pipes.

Stiles slowly lifted himself to his feet again, washed out his mouth and gulped down a few hands full of water, before he turned the key in its lock and opened the mirror cupboard above the sink.

"Ah-...!"

He leaned against the wall, his pants pushed down hurriedly, flinching slightly as he placed the first cut.

Slowly, as the chaos in his mind turned to white noise, then silence, his features began to relax again, his breath deepening with every new cut until it was steady enough again.

"Ouch-!!"

Stiles' eyes flew open as he accidentally crossed one of the older cuts that had not yet healed properly, stinging intensely like a bad paper cut.

As his eyes followed the thin trail of blood it left on his thigh the razor blade slid from his fingers, quietly dropping to the floor.

Only moments later Stiles found himself sitting beside it, some toilet paper pressed firmly to the fresh cuts, his gaze still fixed on the sharp little object as tears rose to his eyes, shame and guilty now getting a tight grip of his throat.

_Peter is going to notice._

-

_My dad has a double shift tonight and leaves at 7pm. Can you come over sooner than usual?_

Peter frowned a bit, worried and excited alike to be seeing Stiles sooner than expected that day.

_I'll be there at 7.10pm. - PH_

-

Stiles was restlessly pacing his bedroom, nervously running his fingers through his hair, kneeding his lower lip, sunken in thought.

When he heard the leaves outside his window rustle slightly he turned around, just in time to see Peter step into his bedroom.

"Peter..."

Stiles wanted to smile, but it suddenly fell apart, shattering like thin glass as the tears came back, the sobbing making his shoulders shiver uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry-...! I'm so-... so sorry-!!", he gasped quietly, couldn't even bring himself to look at Peter properly. "I swear, I didn't mean to-...! I just-... I couldn't think anymore, and when I did it was already too late, and I-"

Peter closed his arms around him, embracing him, holding him tightly.

"It's okay, Stiles... It's gonna be alright..."

He was pulling him closer now, trying to hide how much his own hands had started shaking.

"Please don't be mad at me-...!"

_It was heartbreaking._

_So heartbreaking to look beyond the sarcasm and witty remarks, behind the sly smile and the laughter, and to truly see how damaged he was._

_Heartbreaking to see how such a young man had been twisted by an ancient spirit._

_Heartbreaking to see him cry, and think of himself as guilty of what was happening to him..._

"I'm not mad at you, Stiles... It's okay..."

"I really didn't mean to-..! I couldn't-... help it-...!"

"Stiles..."

Carefully Peter let go of him, sensing the panic taking over, gently cupping Stiles' face.

"Look at me..."

Slowly, very slowly Stiles finally met his eye, his entire body relaxing now as Peter took the edge off his attack, calming him again.

"Ah..."

Briefly he closed his eyes, a quiet gasp of relief escaping his lips as he felt the pain and anxiety suddenly disappear.

It was then that for the fraction of a moment Peter almost slipped up, almost lost control, allowing his mind to play oh so sweet tricks on him as he looked into his eyes, granted himself a fleeting look at his soft, slightly parted lips, before the wolf suppressed his urges and came to his senses again.

"I am not mad at you. Okay? It's all fine. It's alright now..."

Peter smiled gently, more honestly than he thought he could have managed at that moment.

"I'll help you get through this. I will. Don't worry about it..."

Stiles nodded quietly, mouthing a thank you, not really able to respond much more.

Briefly Peter wondered if... but no. No, it would be too dangerous. And only a very powerful Alpha would be able to take all of those memories. And he was hardly an Alpha anymore, was he...

-

Stiles had spend the rest of the evening trying to concentrate on some of his homework as Peter read quietly, watching him without him noticing from time to time.

"I guess I'll go get ready for bed... Can I get you anything else?"

Peter set down his mug of green tea on the bedside table.

"No, thank you."

Stiles nodded and went next door.

When he came back he turned off the lights, and slid into bed next to Peter as if it was the most normal and natural thing for him to do, lying so close to him that his back touched Peter's chest, the wolf's arm lying around him protectively, their fingers interlaced. 

"Good night, Stiles."

"Thank you..."

Stiles closed his eyes, getting a bit more comfortable.

Then he opened them again, trying to let his eyes get used to the darkness.

"Peter...?"

"Hm?"

"I want to look at you... Is that okay...?"

Peter chuckled softly.

"You're not supposed to look at me, you're supposed to sleep..."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

Stiles' fingers unknowingly gripped Peter's a little tighter before he let go of his hand, turning around in Peter's arms.

"The way you look at me... it makes me feel safe..."

Peter swallowed dryly as Stiles looked up to him with those dark, beautiful eyes, awaiting his response with an almost juvenile impatience. He quickly licked his lips, forcing himself to look away from the pair of lips so close in front of him now.

"Are you comfortable like this?"

Stiles nodded softly.

"Yeah, absolutely..."

"Okay..."

Peter closed his eyes briefly, reminding himself urgently that whatever it was he was doing then and there was solely for Stiles' wellbeing, and that he had to leave whatever affections he had outside as soon as he set foot into this bedroom if he was going to be of any help to him.

And yet it somehow didn't seem fair to him. 

It wasn't fair not to let Stiles know who he was sharing a bed with every night...

"Listen, Stiles..."

"Hm...?"

"Let's make a deal..."

Stiles looked confused and surprised even in the darkness surrounding them.

Being this expressive was clearly a talent of the boy.

"A deal? What kind of deal?"

"You wanted to know why I'm helping you with this, right? I'll tell you. In all honesty. If..."

Peter gently lifted his hand, running the tips of his fingers over Stiles' cheek.

"If, for one week, you manage to take proper care of yourself and your cutting..."

His voice remained calm, soft, reassuring, and Stiles let him finish despite the urge to interject.

"I'm not asking you to stop right away and change within a week. Instead, I want this to be a small goal for you... If you don't harm yourself for the next seven days, or you call me for help when you feel like hurting yourself again, I'll tell you why I'm really here..."

Stiles bit his lip absentmindedly, quietly thinking about this for quite some time.

At first this had sounded like a horrible idea to him, but Peter truly didn't seem to be meaning it in a malicious or punishing way, so he finally made his decision.

After all, he wanted to get better.

He really did.

Also, the question of Peter's true motive still had remained unanswered, and he was too curious to not even at least try.

"I guess we have a deal, then..."

He smiled sleepily, his hands gently gripped the fabric at the back of Peter's tshirt as he burried his face at his chest, feeling entirely safe and sound.

He breathed in deeply, enjoying the pleasant smell of Peter's perfume, the way it mixed with his natural scent.

_Was it Armani? Hugo Boss? Calvin Klein...?_

_He'd have to invest some more time at the mall, smelling his way through all the samples to figure it out..._

"Night, Peter..."

Peter caressingly ran his hand over his back, enjoying the warmth of the young man in his arms, how close they were.

It felt so good to be back, even if the night ahead of him would cost a lot of strength. 

Even if he was worried sick about the boy.

All he wanted, all he _needed_ , was for him to feel safe.

"Good night, Stiles..."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
>  Please note that this chapter contains thoughts of suicide at the beginning. Please always be safe when reading about topics like this and rather skip this section if it might affect you negatively. ♥
> 
> Nogitsune xo

The first day after the night of their deal had been surprisingly easy to manage for Stiles.

Well, _easy_ in comparison to his other days, that was.

He was more concentrated at school, his mind felt more at ease, and he had gotten a proper night's worth of sleep.

And he knew that Peter had contributed quite largely to that.

The morning after Stiles had felt ashamed when he had woken up, embarrassed about how emotional he had gotten, how clingy, until he had looked into Peter's eyes, seeing how incredibly accepting he was, how understanding of his situation.

The second day, however...

Stiles was standing in the shower, just standing there, the hot water raining down on him as he watched the thin razor blade in his hand, carefully spinning it.

It was not as bad as last week when he hadn't been able to stop thinking about killing himself to just escape all of this mess.

Yet still he couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to cut open his wrists; how much would it hurt? How much would he actually feel before his body went into shock? What would it look like? 

He knew he wasn't going to; he didn't want to.

Not today.

Gently, very gently he pressed the edge of the razor against his skin at the very outside of his wrist, right underneath his thumb, and turned the blade slightly, still without harming his skin.

_There was a strong hand grabbing his wrist, claws pressing against his skin through the fabric of his shirt, as his arm was yanked forward, pulled up right towards the mouth of his attacker, sharp fangs hidden right behind his lips._

_"Do you want the bite?"_

Stiles almost slipped on the wet ground as he came to it from that memory, quickly dropped the razor on the nearest surface to be able to steady himself at the wall with that hand.

The night of the formal was almost two years ago now... the night when Peter had offered him the bite.

_But why the hell was his subconscious pushing this forward now...?!_

When Stiles closed his eyes there were suddenly other thoughts in his head, almost as overwhelming as his memories, and just as hard to cast aside.

_Darkness was all he could feel._

_Consuming, total, and overpowering darkness._

_Yet it was not as cold with pure wrath, cold as the basement from his nightmares the Nogitsune was forcing him to relive over and over again._

_The air felt welcoming, warm, almost wet to the touch._

Despite the hot shower Stiles' hair stood on end, his body entirely overruled by his head.

And then he felt it.

_The air was rich with moans, sighs, silent screams._

_The sound of bodies grinding, a low rumbling like that of distant thunder, the shuffling of fabric that felt like sheets-_

_Kissing, touching, begging for more-_

Stiles leaned his arm against the wall for himself to rest his forehead against, his other hand uncontrollably wandering between his thighs as it did ever so often, yet this time for an entirely different purpose.

-

When Stiles finally came to it again, relaxing, cosy warmth still spreading in his body, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed of himself.

He pushed his wet hair out of his face, turned off the water, and got out of the shower.

_Where the hell had that just come from?!_

-

When Stiles heard the heavy steps set into his room it almost made him jump out of his chair, so deeply had he sunken into his thoughts, the homework in front of him long forgotten.

"Peter! You're here early-", he smiled nervously, slowly rubbing his hands together as the werewolf stepped closer.

Peter furrowed his brows in suspicion.

"I am actually here at the same time I always am..."

Slowly, like a predator does with its prey, he circled Stiles, his eyes checking every bit of bare skin that he could see, sniffing slightly to sense whether fresh blood had been drawn not too long ago; yet Stiles seemed perfectly fine, and not having relapsed.

"Why are you so nervous?"

Stiles felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. 

Having Peter so close after _that_ kind of waking dream was more awkward than he would be able to put into words at that moment.

"It's nothing. I'm fine. Coffee?"

"Tea, thank you."

Curiously Peter watched him prepare him a cup of the expensive imported green tea he had once brought over, shrugged off his jacket and crossed his arms.

"I, uh..."

Stiles set Peter's tea on the bedside table, smiling anxiously.

"I got you something..."

He went over to his desk again and reached for his backpack, took a small, square present out of it and handed it to Peter.

Peter's severe expression relaxed, he looked confused, definitely taken by surprise as he eyed the heavy, expensive gift-wrapping paper with the artistically shaped bow on top. 

"What is this?"

"I guess you'll have to open it to find out.", Stiles grinned back shyly.

"It's... not my birthday."

"I know. Just open it already..."

Biting at his thumb the younger man watched him carefully peel away the layer of paper, only to then find him to be even more speechless.

"Is it the wrong one...?", Stiles asked hopelessly.

_He should have taken the break at that goddamn coffee shop to cleanse his palette before he had made his final choice._

“No, it’s…”

Peter looked a little lost, but he found his voice again quite quickly.

“Stiles, this is too expensive. You can’t just give me something like this. I want you to return this.”

Knowing it had cost the young man probably quite a good amount of his savings, he extended his hand holding the luxury designer perfume. 

Stiles, however, had no intention of taking it back.

“I am not just giving it to you… I mean… I wanted to have something to thank you with…”

He smiled at Peter, gently pushing his hand back.

“Please. You’re doing so much for me every single day. Just let me do this one thing.”

The werewolf considered it for quite a while.

Then he nodded quietly, grinning slightly.

“How did you know which one to pick?”

“I, uh…”

Stiles felt the hotness return to his face. That part of the conversation was definitely harder than giving him the gift in the first place.

“I remembered it. It was just a coincidence, the lady at the shop recommended it to me.”

“She didn’t.”

“No, she didn’t…”

Slowly he met Peter’s gaze, causing them both to laugh.

Luckily Peter didn’t demand any further explanation, allowing Stiles to sneak off into the bathroom to get changed.

-

“How are you holding up?”, Peter asked softly as they laid down, Stiles shifting a little, moving closer to him.

“I’m doing quite good, actually… It’s still really hard sometimes, but… I can manage.”

The werewolf raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes… I…”

Stiles cleared his throat.

“Thinking of you really helps…”

The silence that followed made Stiles even more uncomfortable than the way Peter had just looked at him.

“I-I mean, knowing that I’ll just have to manage until sunset on my own…”

He became quieter with every word, not really eager to explain himself, get himself caught in even more lies that he would then have to explain awkwardly.

If Stiles only knew how much harder he was making this for Peter.

He had sworn not to let his affections get in the way of any kind of help he was able to provide the boy with; but this?

_The gift._

_The blushing of his cheeks and the way he avoided looking at him for too long because he was afraid he’d end up forgetting what he wanted to say._

_The way his heart had skipped a beat when he had said that he had been thinking about him._

It was torturous.

Peter could sense how he was still trying to keep his distance, how nervous he was tonight, about him, about sharing a bed with him.

Was this really how things were playing out… or were they just how Peter liked to see them?

_He couldn’t stand another minute of not finding out._

“Stiles, how about we try a different approach?”

“What do you mean? You’re not leaving, are you-?”

“No, of course not. But right now, I need you to focus… Close your eyes…”

Stiles did as he was told, preparing himself for some kind of guided meditation.

“Now, for every specific bad memory that you have, I want you to counteract it with something positive.”

“Like what…?”

“Next time you feel like hurting yourself again, I want you to think of this…”

It could not have lasted longer than a moment, but to Peter it felt like eternity.

Gently, very carefully he placed his hand on Stiles’ cheek, leaning in closer until their lips finally touched, kissing him softly, briefly, just long enough for both of them to fully savour the moment, for him to try to save this for as long as Stiles would let him.

-

_Moaning._

_Nails scratching over bare skin, marking it-_

_Breathless kisses, hands buried in each other’s hair, fully taking in the other person-_

Stiles felt shivers running down his spine as Peter kissed him, so gently and tenderly, it almost made him feel bad for the so much more indecent pictures that had been triggered inside his head.

_There was no blood, no death, no violence._

_Only warmth, and the feeling of finally, truly, and unapologetically belonging somewhere._

When Stiles felt Peter pulling back slowly, his body reacted faster than his mind, his hands reaching out for him, pulling him closer again, reuniting their lips, kissing him more daringly, curiously, eagerly, wanting and needing all of these feelings it sparked inside of him.

-

When they laid there, just holding each other close, trying to understand what just had happened, the wolf couldn’t resist the doubt creeping back into his body like the cold of the weather outside; yes, he was happy Stiles had reacted so positively to the kiss… but what if he had only triggered a shock reaction?

_What if this one, single act of closeness had irrevocably driven them apart?_

_Pushed Stiles away from him?_

_What if he and his stupid, selfish ego had ruined everything…?!_

“Stiles, I… I am sorry…”

The young man didn’t know why he had reacted like he had, and why he was now leaning in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the werewolf’s lips.

All he knew, all he wanted to know at that moment, was that Peter was not leaving his side.

“Don’t be…”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Sorry it's been a while, but the new chapter is finally finished! 
> 
> Also, there are no trigger warnings for this chapter as none are needed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for all your support! ♥
> 
> Nogitsune xo

_They had kissed._

Stiles found himself grinning like an idiot now and then, thinking back to that moment.

He was not entirely sure what it was that made him so happy, so excited about it, but even though they did not repeat their little incident in the nights to come, and quietly agreed on choosing not to talk about it, it always lifted his spirits when he felt lonely or sad.

His mind was jumping down the rabbit hole now and then, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to figure out what it _meant_.

Did Peter like him?

Did he like Peter?

Or was it just a last resort for trying to make Stiles feel better…?

Stiles threw his pen down at the table, leaning backwards in his chair and running his hands through his hair with a deep sigh.

What was he supposed to do about it now?

Should he try to talk to Peter after all?

He was not even sure of his own feelings yet, and even less of how he was supposed to be able to deal with someone else’s. 

Yet the way his mind always kept wandering to Peter, no matter how hard he tried to focus on someone else, how much he felt himself drifting off to those dark little daydreams, trying to capture and enjoy these feelings, how he was not able to go to sleep every single night without wishing, willing Peter to kiss him again; it had become unbearable. 

He finally had to do something about it. 

Make a decision.

Stiles took his pen back into his hand, turned around the piece of paper, and started over new, drawing two uneven lines, assigned by two words written at the top of the page.

_Pro._

_Con._

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to think about it too much as he then scribbled down all his thoughts, trying to help himself make a proper decision.

However, the list only seemed to make it worse.

_Pro:_  
He helps me sleep  
I feel less lonely  
I trust him  
I can’t stop thinking about him  
He actually gives a damn 

_Con:_  
I don’t know if he actually likes me that much  
I would have to tell Scott  
The pack would know  
Derek would know  
I am not legally an adult yet  
It would come across the wrong way  
My dad would kill him 

For a while, Stiles stared at the last few points on his list.

_I can’t be sure he is not using me_  
I could end off worse than I started  
I would lose him 

Slowly, calmly he took the list, crumpled the piece of paper between his fists, and threw it in the direction of the trash can without caring where it actually landed.

He was falling for Peter.

It was just too risky.

Too dangerous for both of them.

There was no way in hell he was going to get out of this as a happier person.

It was just not worth it.

There was no happy ending for them.

-

When Peter set foot into the room Stiles was still fully dressed and standing before him as if he had been waiting in the same spot for him to arrive without moving for a while.

“Hey…”, Peter tried to smile, but it quickly faded as he looked at Stiles’ face.

Everything about this situation was terribly off.

The way he crossed his arms and took a step back when Peter came in.

The way his heart started racing when Peter came closer.

The way he tried to hide how much his hands were shaking.

_Something was wrong._

“Are you alright, Stiles?”

“I think you should leave.”

Peter felt himself trying to reply something, but his brain was blank, the search for words useless.

“I… I really appreciate everything you did for me. I really do. And I’ll never be able to repay you. But, uhm…”

Stiles gripped the fabric of the sleeves of his hoodie a little harder, seeking any kind of support he could get as he tried not to give in to the urge to just close his arms around Peter or run his fingers over the fabric of his thin sweater.

“I feel better. I feel well enough to get by on my own now… And I don’t…”

It was unbearable.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea if we kept seeing each other…”

Stiles expected an uncomfortable silence.

An argument.

Hell, even Peter demanding to see his thighs to be sure he wasn’t cutting again.

“You’re right.”

The smile on Peter’s face was the last thing he would have ever expected to see right now.

“I agree. It would not be a wise choice to keep this up. After all, you do seem to feel better. And I am glad that you do.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say, so he just smiled back and nodded.

Peter stepped closer, his hand rested at the back of Stiles’ neck for the briefest moment, his lips gently placing a kiss on his forehead.

“You take care, okay? Call me if you need me.”

“Thank you…”

Stiles opened his eyes again, and just like that, Peter was gone. He could not even be sure whether he had heard him say these last two words.

He exhaled deeply, having held his breath for a bit too long.

He should be happy things had been so easy to end between them.

No fight.

No bad blood.

Yet, he couldn’t help notice how empty his room felt. 

How uncomfortable his bedside table looked without the cup of fresh green tea on it.

How cold his sheets were as he eventually got to bed, with it being too big for just a single person to lay in.

Stiles watched the shadows of the tree outside on his wall until they eventually faded from cold to warm, giving way to the first few rays of sunlight.

-

Stiles sighed as he checked his phone after class after the long, tiring day that had followed. 

A new message from Derek, asking for the pack to meet at the loft immediately.

He wasn’t entirely sure how much he was going to be able to contribute as the only human but decided to go anyways.

God damn his curiosity.

-

Stiles just stood by, his arms crossed and his gaze distant, not really fully processing everything Derek was telling them. It didn’t seem to be anything imminently life-threatening, so he was sure Scott would get him up to speed again if he had zoned out for too long.

He let his eyes wander among his friends, only for his brows to furrow and to interrupt Derek quite more promptly than he had planned.

“Where’s Peter?”

Derek needed a moment, seemingly caught off guard, already too deeply sunken into the actual, important topic at hand. 

“He said he needed some time off. He hadn’t been feeling very well lately, and he wasn’t in the mood.”

_It’s all my fault._

Stiles just nodded, trying to keep his cool as the anxiety crept into his bones.

He wished he could just get out then and there and drive over to Peter’s apartment, check on him, talk to him, see if he was okay.

He should not have told him to leave. 

He should have talked about his feelings. 

His fears.

The next half an hour seemed endless, and when half of his friends had already left, Stiles felt it was least suspicious to leave as well as long as Scott and Derek were still talking, leaving with a quick goodbye and hitting the road.

-

He was so nervous he almost ran over a red light, hitting the breaks at the last moment, thankful that nobody had been behind him.

Stiles took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but it was no use. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was going on, that he had made a huge mistake, and he was not even able to tell whether it had been his own fault or if the after images of the Nogitsune came back into his mind, playing tricks on him.

He finally found a spot to park his Jeep, jumping out and running up the stairs to Peter’s apartment, not nearly patient enough to wait until the next elevator would arrive.

Breathlessly he reached his front door, taking a few deep breaths, before he found enough courage within himself to knock.

No-one answered.

He knocked again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

He breathed in deeply, shakily, before knocking a third time, more demanding this time.

“What do you want?!”

The door was ripped open so forcefully it made Stiles flinch, frozen with shock for a moment.

Peter’s expression softened as he saw who it was that had disturbed him, but the anger had not yet fully vanished from his features.

“What do you want?”

The low growl in his voice made Stiles’ hair stand on end, his mouth felt dry and his palms cold and sweaty.

“I… I just…”

He cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing… you weren’t at the meeting…”

“So, what are you doing here? I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

_And Stiles was so right to do so. Peter shouldn’t be near him._

_He shouldn’t be given the opportunity to let his feelings for Stiles take over again._

_Stiles should stay away from him as far as he possibly could._

“I… I wanted to see if you were okay. Can I come in…?”

“I would like to say ‘no’ but then you would try to get in anyways.”, Peter replied through gritted teeth, closing the door behind Stiles.

He sighed.

“Stiles, why can’t you _just_ leave me alone? What the hell is so important that it couldn’t wait?”

“I…”

_I made a mistake. I am sorry._

“Like I said, I wanted to make sure you’re alright…”

“You do realise there is no such thing as _alright_ for me, do you? That question is just redundant and unnecessary, and I want you to leave.”

“Do you?!”

Stiles couldn’t tell who was more surprised that he had raised his voice, him or Peter.

“For weeks I told you everything, you know every single little thing about me that is so horrible that I didn’t want to live with myself anymore, and now you just brush me off like an annoying little kid?! You were next to me all these nights, and then suddenly you don’t care anymore, just like that?!”

Stiles swallowed dryly as Peter stepped closer, growling, cornering him.

“You wanted me to stay, I stayed. You wanted me to leave, I left. Are we going to have a problem here, when I am telling you that I want you to leave?”

He was trying not to tremble as he looked into the glowing, bright blue eyes directly in front of him, but the sight of Peter’s teeth, the claws scratching over the wall right next to Stiles’ ear still made ice-cold chills run down his spine.

“I guess we do…”

His voice was so quiet, yet the silence around them was even stronger, making him feel like he had cut loose a wild, hurt animal, that had only been waiting to lash out. 

He was terrified that he had made the wrong decision coming there, confronting Peter like this, only now being fully aware of how dangerous he truly was.

“I… I’m sorry-… for sending you away like that-…”

“Then why did you? Hm?”, Peter growled tauntingly, the way he stared at him made it even harder for Stiles to concentrate.

“I never meant to be ungrateful-“

“I know, you said that before.”

“I just-“

His voice was breaking, and still he tried to keep looking at Peter even though his eyes were burning.

“I’m fucking terrified, okay-...?! Everything about this, about _you_ , I… I can’t stop thinking about all the things that might go wrong, or the what-ifs, or what it really is that makes it so hard for me to get by on my own for one damn, single night without you…!”

Without thinking about it Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter, pulled him as close as he could, burying his face at his shoulder. 

“Please, let me stay-… let me try to explain-… And I don’t just want to stay because of the nightmares, I promise-… Please-“

Peter took a deep breath, calming his senses, carefully putting his arms around Stiles.

_Trying not to hold onto him too tightly._

_Trying not to let his feelings take over again._

“Just for this one night…”


End file.
